


Dragonslayer

by Brenda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome Sam Wilson, BAMF Natasha Romanov, F/M, Gen, M/M, Sam-Centric, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Up all night to get Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4408376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She only ever came to him when Steve wasn't around, she never stayed more than a few minutes, and she always left behind a clue or some intel or something having to do with Barnes.  Sam had no idea why she was singling him out, but he wasn't going to complain about it, either.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Spending time with a beautiful woman – even if she could probably kill him using nothing but her pinky – was never a bad thing.</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragonslayer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 [Slashorific]() fic challenge, based on this quote:
> 
>  _"And then there are the times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling."_ \- George Carlin

Sam wasn't one for bragging, but he was damn good at his job. Listening, empathizing, tuning in and _getting_ it – those were all valuable and hard-won skills, ones he had in spades. He'd counseled the lost and desperate and lonely, guided his fellow brothers and sisters in arms from the brink, and he was proud that they trusted him with their secrets and their pain. Proud that he could still contribute and aid other soldiers, even after hanging up the combat boots and the wings.

His job fulfilled him, but it was still nothing special, nothing to really tell the folks about (aside from taking Steve to meet them once and laughing silently while they fussed over him like he was a newborn baby). He was just a man doing his job and helping out people in need. There was nothing about anything he did that would invite extra scrutiny or notice or even be a footnote in the history books, and that was fine with him. He was more than content to stay in the background, leave the heavy lifting to those more suited to the task. Things might be a little more in the way of interesting these days, what with teaming up with Steve Rogers to try to find his long-lost best friend, but on the whole, his life was what it was.

So, yeah, it was safe to say it was a massive shock when Natasha Romanov started to take an active interest in him.

***

"I can't figure you out," Natasha said, without preamble. Sam was super proud of himself for neither yelping like a kid nor rolling right into a combat stance. 

She'd more or less just _appeared_ next to Sam while he was on the rooftop acting as Steve's eyes on the outside. Steve was currently in the next building over, somewhere on the fifth floor, breaking into an office that was rumored to have a couple of old files on the Winter Soldier program. And if it concerned Barnes, no rumor was too slight, no lead was too tenuous.

"Nice night for a stroll?" he asked, because seriously, what the hell? He hadn't even seen her until she'd rolled up next to him, way too close for comfort. So close he'd have been a dead man if she'd wanted to take him out. She was in all black like him, only she filled her clothes out a helluva lot better than he did his own. Her hair was pulled back and a knit cap was on her head, hiding the signature red. The effect made her eyes look even larger, those bee-stung lips seem even poutier.

"I was in the neighborhood," she replied with a shrug, like they were at the corner bodega instead of standing perilously close to the ledge of a high-rise in the freezing ass cold. As soon as this was all over and they'd found Barnes, Sam was going to Jamaica for a month, minimum.

She scanned the skyline, then the street below with a practiced eye. "I can't figure you out," she said again.

"Yeah, well, welcome to the club," Sam told her. "Membership is free." He didn't think he'd be able to figure Natasha out if he lived as long as Thor.

"Not in accompanying Steve," she continued, like he hadn't spoken. " _That_ part I get. But why pretend that you're this paragon of ordinary the rest of the time? Doesn't that get exhausting after awhile?"

"Yeah, you lost me."

"No I haven't," she replied, with a full-lipped smile, like she was pleased with his answer.

"No," he admitted, after a second. "You haven't." Sam was many things, but he'd never been dumb.

"So?" she asked. "Why pretend?"

"That's just it. I'm not," he said. "Right now, I mean, aside from this gig I've got going on chasing after Steve's favorite ghost, normal beats the alternative. And I don't miss the crazy hours." Or the nightmares after, he didn't say.

"Fair enough," she replied, and brushed a light kiss to his cheek before turning and vaulting over the ledge, and blending into the night so seamlessly she may as well have been a ghost herself.

It took him a second to realize she'd also pressed a thumb drive into his hand. 

***

Sam brushed the meeting off as coincidence – he'd been convenient, expedient, she was bored, pick your poison. Until the next time it happened. Steve was off somewhere doing a quick mission-slash-favor for Fury, and Sam was at his place in D.C. putting the latest intel they'd gathered into his spreadsheet. It was an awesome spreadsheet if he said so himself, color-coded and cross-referenced and everything.

He was in the middle of trying to figure out what to have for dinner when the sliding glass door opened and Natasha slithered in like she owned the place. She was dressed a little more casual than last time – yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt, with her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She could have been any young woman coming out of the gym or a spinning class, except for the lethally graceful way she moved, and the flat stare that was pure predator.

She eyed the dining room table, which was covered in files and notes, with a small smirk. "Love the new decorations."

"I'm hearing paper is making a comeback this season," he said. 

He gave her a pointed glance. She looked back out of cool eyes and didn't reply, didn't move. It was a little disconcerting. But she'd come into his domain, so he just stared back until his eyes started to water. He should have known better than to get into a staring contest with an actual super-spy. Although, he was pretty proud of himself for lasting as long as he did.

"Shut the door if you're staying," he finally said, once he'd conceded the round to her.

"Only for a minute," she replied, but did as asked. She straddled the chair next to him, looking more at home in his own house than he did. But then, he couldn't recall a time when she wasn't completely at ease in her surroundings, wherever she was. 

"So, what can I do for you?"

"How's Steve holding up?"

"Uh, fine? I mean, considering," he added, when she just gave him a look that wouldn't have looked out of place coming from his mom. The _don't even play me_ stare was just as effective coming from Natasha, maybe even more so.

" _Considering?_ " she repeated, like she was testing the word out.

"Uh, yeah, you know." He shrugged. "Considering." 

There wasn't much else to say. They both knew Steve wouldn't be back to full capacity until he found Barnes, and maybe not even then. Finding Barnes was one thing. Undoing all the damage that had been done to him, well, that was a whole different kettle of fish.

"Is that your _expert_ opinion?"

It took him a moment to realize she was teasing him. Natasha had a better poker face than some professional players. (It was, if he was honest, kinda sexy. And, by kinda, he meant very.) "No, it's not, but I'm not his therapist or his handler, just his friend."

She cupped her chin in her hand, widened her eyes slightly. "And you can draw that line? It doesn't bleed over?"

"Sometimes," he said, with a shrug, "but I do the best I can. It's not like anyone can really separate who they are from what they do. Humans aren't exactly built like that."

She smiled at him like she was proud of him, bringing out hot as hell dimples. "Close your eyes."

He obeyed on instinct, too many years in the service under his belt to _not_ respond to that note of command. After a second, he felt the barest touch of lips against his, heard the faintest whisper of air, then nothing. Another minute passed. When he opened his eyes, Natasha was nowhere to be found.

But, in her place on the chair was a brand new folder. Sam had no idea where the hell she'd been hiding it.

***

By the third and fourth and fifth time she'd come around, as silent as a damn ninja and always where he least expected it, Sam had – a little belatedly – caught on. She only ever came to him when Steve wasn't around, she never stayed more than a few minutes, and she always left behind a clue or some intel or something having to do with Barnes. Sam had no idea why she was singling him out, but he wasn't going to complain about it, either.

Spending time with a beautiful woman – even if she could probably kill him using nothing but her pinky – was never a bad thing.

***

"Riddle me this." She dropped beside him on the grass, leaned against him like they were in the middle of a conversation instead of not having any contact with each other for the last month. No one else at the park gave them a second look. 

"Okay," he said, and passed her his bottle of water. She had on running shorts and shoes and a ribbed tank top, and her hair was wispy and damp with sweat. He figured even someone with her stamina would still need to rehydrate.

She took a long pull, and handed the bottle back to him with a smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Did you just drop by for the free water?"

"No." But she smiled again. "If you could be anywhere else in the world right now, where would you be?"

"On a beach somewhere tropical." He didn't even need to think about it. "Sipping on a mai tai and watching pretty girls in string bikinis stroll by."

"Hmm." She nodded consideringly. The sun overhead turned her hair into a fiery halo.

"What about you?" he asked. Did she get vacations? Would she want one? He wondered if she even had hobbies or did anything just for fun.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and tilted her head up slightly to look at him. From this close, her lashes seemed a mile long and her eyes more luminous than any jewel. "I'm still working on it," she said.

"Okay," he answered, and waited for the next question, the next test. Instead, she stayed where she was, a warm weight against him, her breathing slow and steady.

It wasn't until he'd closed his eyes to tilt his face up to the sun that he felt it. A gentle kiss against the side of his neck, a slight rustle, then nothing. He didn't bother to open his eyes.

He already knew she was gone. And that whatever she'd left behind would be invaluable to his and Steve's search.

***

He asked Steve about the visits once. They were outside a seedy bar with no name in the worst area of some town whose name Sam couldn't even _pronounce_ , waiting for Natasha to finish interrogating one of her innumerable contacts for a bit of intel that may or may not get them any closer to figuring out where Barnes was headed next. (She did work _with_ them sometimes. But, as with everything else involving Natasha, she only did it when it suited her to do so.)

"You've worked with her awhile, right?" Sam asked, blowing on his hands to keep them warm. He should've bought thicker gloves.

Steve nodded. The wind ruffled his hair. The cold seemed to repel right off of him like he was wearing a protective coat of armor instead of just a beaten motorcycle jacket. "Couple of years now."

"Would you say you two're friends?" he asked, trying to parse out exactly what he wanted to know without _knowing_ what it was he wanted.

"I trust her," Steve replied, which wasn't an answer, except in all the ways it was. "Why?"

"Nothing really, just wondering what her deal is." 

Steve's lips turned up. "Sam, I could live _another_ hundred years and still not be able to tell you a damn thing about how any woman thinks, let alone a woman like Natasha."

"Touché," Sam chuckled, because it wasn't like Steve was wrong. "But there's something driving her. Something beyond a need to right the wrongs of her past, whatever those are."

"Well, if you're asking me what makes her _tick_ , that's well above my pay grade," Steve said, with an even bigger grin. "What interests me is why you want to know."

Sam got the impression Steve wasn't giving him the full story about what he knew or didn't know, but that was alright. The man had his secrets – a whole host of 'em, in fact – and Sam respected that. "Did you know she's been dropping by to give me files and info and whatnot?"

"Yeah. And?"

"I guess I'm just wondering why she's been singling me out and not you is all." He couldn't stop thinking about it, in fact. Sam was _just_ a man. He wasn't a super hero or super soldier or super spy or a super anything, except maybe, sometimes, a super nice guy. There was no reason for Natasha to be so interested in him.

"You know, Fury once said something to me once about Natasha." Steve leaned against the brick wall behind them. His gaze didn't leave the front door of the bar, but Sam could _feel_ the weight of Steve's attention on him. "I'm paraphrasing a little bit, but the gist was, she's such a great agent because she's comfortable with everything."

"Okay." Sam could certainly see it. He'd never met anyone who was so fully capable of compartmentalizing everything and doing whatever the mission demanded, no matter what it was.

"Here's the thing, though," Steve said, and his voice didn't change, his stance didn't change, but he was angry now. He was _furious_ and not bothering to hide it. "What Fury never got, what I could never get through to him, is that it's okay to _not_ be comfortable with everything and still get the job done. When Natasha remembers that – when she lets herself remember she can _have_ that – fuck, Sam, I will throw the party myself when that day comes."

"Okay," Sam said again, because he wasn't sure where Steve was going with this thread.

"For way too long, she's had to be all things to all people all the time." Steve said it softly, like he was reciting something he'd heard somewhere. "I like her best on the days when she remembers she doesn't have to be anyone except herself." 

He finally glanced Sam's way. His eyes shone like finely polished steel. "Understand?"

Sam opened his mouth to say no, because Steve hadn't come close to answering his question, but then Natasha strode out of the bar with a determined look on her face and the world's smallest smile, which meant she'd found something big, and the moment was lost.

 

(He didn't think about the conversation again until much later – they were a continent away and Steve was hunched over the files like going over them again would yield a different result than the last hundred times – but he didn't have any new insight. He had no idea what Steve had been talking about, and maybe that was the point. Better to not even try to figure her out.)

***

It wasn't that Sam didn't still have nightmares. He'd had more than his share, had woken up sweating and gasping, reliving the horrifying moment when Riley was shot down in front of him over and over in vivid, far too bright detail. He got being scared to go out in public, being scared to go to sleep, the difficulties in reintegrating into civilian life, the fear that you'd never fully be human again in any meaningful way. No, he didn't have PTSD the way a lot of people he knew did, and was thankful for it, but no one walked into a war zone and came out the same on the other end. 

So, he understood where Steve was coming from probably better than anyone. He got Steve's frustration and anger and grief and sadness, and was happy to follow him all over the planet on Barnes' trail. He'd have moved heaven and earth to get Riley back, and he didn't have near the childhood bond that Steve and Barnes did. 

But he _also_ knew when to call a halt for the night, when to shove Steve either out the door or down the hall and to a bed to get some sleep before he started driving himself too crazy. Steve always grumbled, but he never argued for long. Which just proved Sam's point that even super stubborn super soldiers knew when to bow to superior knowledge and call it quits.

Sam had just sent Steve to his room to get some shuteye and taken a seat at the little patio outside his motel door when Natasha dropped onto the chair next to him. She looked...softer, somehow, this time. Could be the oversized hoodie she was wearing or maybe it was that her hair was all loose and framing that heart-stopping face just right. Or maybe it was just that she didn't have that closed-off look she normally had when Sam saw her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, passing over his beer.

She took it with a small smile of thanks. "Saw the light on, thought I'd drop by."

"You got anything new for us?"

"Not tonight." 

He blinked in confusion. "That's...different."

"Tonight, I just wanted the company," she said. She sounded tired as hell.

"Well, alright," he finally answered, when she didn't say anything else. He got it, got how some nights the darkness just seemed to close in and suffocate the life right out of you. He'd just never thought that the Black Widow herself would ever be uncomfortable in the dark. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Not really," she replied, with a shake of her head. "Just talk."

She curled her arms around her knees, and stared off at some point in the distance Sam couldn't see. She looked far too young in this light, young and fragile in a way he'd never once associated with her. He wondered what had happened, what could possibly have rattled the great and fearsome Natasha Romanov so much.

But, in the end, it didn't matter. She was a friend, as unconventional as that friendship was. And she'd asked for his help.

"I can do that," he told her, and started talking about his family and the latest adventures with his aunts and grandmother. He kept his voice soothing, low, went through all the family gossip – and there was a ton – and kept an eye on her the entire time.

She never moved, but whatever weight she was carrying gradually seemed to lessen the more he spoke. He'd count that as a success in any book.

***

There was a warm hand resting against his cheek and a soft voice in his ear murmuring, "Shhh, it's just me, you're safe," before he could fully let out the scream building in the back of his throat. His body relaxed against the sheets and as he sunk back against his pillow, he was already reaching for her. He wasn't sure what he was intending – comfort, maybe, a safe place to get some shuteye – but when his hands slid over warm, soft, _bare_ skin, everything about the moment changed.

She came willingly into his arms, slender and curvy and muscled and a goddamn miracle. He still wasn't sure why she was with him and not in the room next door with Steve, but he wasn't about to complain. Not with her clever fingers slid under his boxers and wrapped around his cock and not when she sank sharp teeth at his throat and not with the sweetly heavy weight of her breasts pressing against his chest. When he finally slipped his hand between her thighs, she was soaking wet and cursing in at least three different languages for him to get a move on.

And even though he couldn't really see her with the lights off and the curtains drawn, he knew without a doubt that she was the most beautiful sight in the world.

She moved in his arms like liquid silk, kissed him like he was worthy of her, and trembled against him with every touch and kiss. Moans and sighs bled into one another, and Sam had no idea if this was really even happening, but if it was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. 

It wasn't until much, much later that he even thought to ask the obvious question.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. His limbs felt heavy and his body well-used, and he hoped she'd had as good of a time as he had. And that maybe she'd stick around for awhile, just so he could indulge in some post-coital cuddling. (He was a snuggler, yeah, he admitted it.) His voice was so low it barely disturbed the air. "Why me?"

She shrugged and curled closer to him, all supple and warm and affectionate, like her entire body wasn't a deadly weapon she wielded like a master. "I like who I am when I'm with you."

Like a dream, he hazily remembered his conversation from so long ago with Steve. And finally, he understood what Steve had been trying to tell him.

"And who is it that you are when you're with me?" Which was the million dollar question, wasn't it?

She smiled against his skin like she was delighted with him and the query. "I have _no_ idea."

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Stephrc79](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79) for going over the story with me and helping me figure out what was missing, and to G. for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
> You can find me now on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com).


End file.
